


Your heart, your head

by givebackmylifecas



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Established Relationship, Fluff, Found Family, M/M, Mild Angst, poor attempts at humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas
Summary: Andrés has had years to learn Martín, unlike the others. Although even that doesn’t help him as he watches Martín arguing with Sergio about equations which, as clever as Andrés is, are incomprehensible even to him.Basically 5 times members of the gang realise they underestimated and don't know Martín as well as they think - and 1 time someone does know him really well (no prizes for guessing who)
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 27
Kudos: 244





	Your heart, your head

**Author's Note:**

> have this 5+1 shit *tosses it at you*. Imagine this as established Berlermo in which they got together sometime after the mint and the others don't meet Martín until they all reunite to help Rio.
> 
> TWs: ummmm just for canon typical derogatory language i think? maybe vaguely implied past abuse and... a guy at a bar being creepy
> 
> Fic title from the Nashville song 'Fade Into You'

**1\. Andrés**

Martín isn’t an easy man to understand, Andrés has always known this. It takes people a while to learn the ups and downs of the waves of his emotions, his quick intelligence, his fiery temper. Andrés has had years to learn him though, unlike the others. Although even that doesn’t help him as he watches Martín arguing with Sergio about equations which, as clever as Andrés is, are incomprehensible even to him.

“Sergio, Sergio, I love you like a brother but what you’re saying is bullshit,” Martín yells, hands emphasising his every word.

Andrés shifts on the desk he’s perched on, impressed as his usually unruffled brother runs his hands through his hair in frustration.

“The maths doesn’t lie, Martín,” Sergio says, pointing at the board that has illegible equations scribbled all over it.

Martín scowls. “It does when the maths is wrong. Which, by the way, yours is.”

“My maths is not wrong!” Sergio insists and Martín laughs exaggeratedly.

“Oh, but mine is? Tell me, which one of us actually went to university and got a degree in engineering?” Martín demands.

Sergio groans loudly and starts underlining numbers on the board, talking over Martín who is shouting unintelligible mathematical theories at him.

“Oh god, are they still at it?” a voice asks from behind him and he smiles as Raquel walks up to him.

He shuffles over a little and she takes a seat next to him. “Unfortunately, hermanita, neither Martín nor Sergio are inclined to admitting when they’re wrong.”

Raquel squints at the board as Sergio’s voice rises in volume and Martín’s gestures grow ever more theatrical. “Which one of them is right?”

“I have no idea,” Andrés says with a shrug. “I’m not even sure what they’re arguing about anymore.”

“I’m supposed to call them to dinner, but I don’t think I should interrupt,” she whispers conspiratorially just as Martín turns to them.

“The margins are way off, right Andrés?” Martín demands.

Andrés nods serenely. “They are, cariño.”

“Ha!” Martín says to Sergio and Raquel raises an eyebrow at Andrés.

“I have no idea what he’s talking about,” Andrés says and she laughs.

Sergio almost screams in frustration. “Don’t ask Andrés, he doesn’t know anything about engineering. I might as well ask Raquel!”

Raquel throws Andrés a wink and then schools her face into a scowl as she turns to Sergio. “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t think I’m smart enough to understand what you’re talking about?” she asks Sergio, her tone icy.

Sergio blanches and shakes his head. “No, of course not,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I know you’re smart. I just mean that when it comes to engineering maybe you don’t have the background –”

Raquel purses her lips. “So now I don’t have the education? How hard it must be for you, Professor, to put up with me.”

Sergio looks like he’s about to expire as he raises his hands defensively. “No, Raquel, no. You’re an incredible woman. But surely even you wouldn’t claim to have an extensive knowledge of theoretical –”

Andrés decides to stop his brother from turning this fake argument into a real fight. “You might not want to continue that sentence, hermanito. If you are done arguing with Martín, Raquel has just informed me that dinner is ready.”

“We’re done,” Sergio relents and Martín snorts.

“Glad you’re admitting that you’re wrong,” he says and Andrés groans inwardly as Sergio starts pointing at the board again.

“Okay, both of you take a breath,” Raquel orders. “Now each of you look over your own work one more time and the we’ll go to dinner. Tokyo and Helsinki worked hard on it and we won’t let it go cold because you two can’t behave like adults.”

Martín and Sergio both frown guiltily and then walk back to the blackboard, Martín disappearing behind it to look at his equations.

Andrés watches as his brother studies the numbers and grins when his shoulders suddenly slump. He loves Martín and his intelligence of course. He knows how smart he is, but Sergio is smart too and his brother is rarely wrong about these sort of things.

“Oh,” Sergio says and Martín’s head appears over the top of the board – Andrés is fairly sure he’s standing on his tip-toes. Sergio sighs. “I… I made a mistake. My multiplication is off in the third line.”

Raquel gets to her feet and Andrés does the same. “Good,” she says. “Then we can go to dinner like civilised people.”

Sergio nods resignedly as Martín whoops loudly and comes bouncing back from behind the board, practically jumping into Andrés’ arms in jubilation.

“Don’t be schadenfroh,” Andrés says, wrapping an arm around Martín’s waist. “My hermanito made an honest mistake.”

Martín nods as Sergio glares. “Of course, it’s just the fact that it took him so long to admit to it. You’d think a man of his intellect would have noticed straight away.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Raquel says sternly, although there’s a smile playing on her lips. “Let’s go have dinner.” She grabs Sergio’s hand and he lets himself be pulled out of the classroom.

Andrés tightens his grip on Martín and then steers him towards the door as well.

“I knew I was right,” Martín mumbles, arm snaking around Andrés' lower back, tucking his hand into the waistband of Andrés’ slacks.

“Of course you were,” Andrés says indulgently. “You’re my genius ingeniero. I never doubted you for a second” Martín goes red and Andrés presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Let’s go before Denver eats all the good food.”

* * *

**2\. Denver**

It’s late and Mónica is right, they really shouldn’t be letting Cincinnati stay up for so long. But Denver just can’t bring himself to drag his son away from the people he considers family. Especially now that Julia – or Manila as she’s now insisting on being called – has joined them for week.

Cincinnati has taken to her especially fast, spending the last two days practically glued to her side. Something about the way his son insists on being carried about by his ‘Tía La’ really warms Denver. Maybe it’s because she and Benjamin are a last connection to his own father.

He gets Cincinnati settled and then heads back to the courtyard where everyone else is still up and drinking the horrendous amounts of wine Berlin bought. Not that Denver is complaining, Berlin buys good stuff – not like when Tokyo and Nairobi are sent out for supplies.

He’s already looking forward to finishing off the white wine he’d been sharing with the Professor when he stops dead in his tracks, staring across the courtyard.

Manila is seated on the low wall, cross-legged, which would be fine, except that Palermo guy has his head in her lap.

Denver isn’t sure what to make of Palermo. He knows he’s close with Berlin, Denver actually sort of thought they were hooking up, but he doesn’t know much else about him. He’s pretty openly gay and he’s really smart based on what Denver has seen in the classroom, maybe even Professor levels of smart. But he’s also a dick, just like Berlin, and Denver doesn’t trust him yet. Especially not with the person who’s the closest thing to a sibling he has.

Palermo is giggling at something Manila is saying, eyes hazy, and she nearly hits him in the face as she gestures, making him laugh even harder.

“Hey,” Denver calls, striding over to the two of them.

Manila frowns at him and Palermo turns his head, pillowing his cheek on her knee.

“Hey, it’s Denver,” Palermo slurs.

“What are you doing?” Denver demands.

“I’m just hanging out with my super good friend Manila,” Palermo says, drawing out the last syllable as Manila laughs and pats his head.

“We gave up on wine and started on the vodka,” she explains, lifting the bottle beside her.

Palermo sits up and plants a sloppy kiss on her chin and they both devolve into giggles.

Denver crosses his arms and glares at Palermo. “I thought you were gay.”

Palermo nods. “Super, duper gay,” he says, totally serious and Manila snorts.

“Then what the fuck are you doing with her?” Denver asks, pointing at Manila. “You know she’s a woman, right?”

Palermo frowns and Manila scowls at Denver. “Of course he does, what are you talking about?”

Denver doesn’t understand why she’s angry with him. “Look at him, he’s all over you. You know Palermo, just because she used to be… different than she is now doesn’t mean she’s not a woman,” he ploughs on as Palermo sits up, face curling into an angry sneer.

“I’m her friend, I’m not trying to fuck her,” he says loudly and Denver shifts uncomfortably.

Manila palms her face in exasperation. “Denver, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but Palermo isn’t trying to get in my pants. We’re just hanging out.”

“I, uh,” Denver starts as Palermo gets to his feet, swaying unsteadily.

“You’re a fucking dick, Denver,” he spits. “You think I’m that much of an asshole? That I think she’s just a man with long hair? Fuck you.”

“No, Palermo, I just…” Denver tries but Palermo is already pushing past him and stumbling over to where Berlin, Lisbon, and the Professor are sitting. “I was just trying to look out for you,” he tells Manila who sighs.

“I know, and thank you. But he really doesn’t see me that way. Everyone here has only been accepting of me,” she says and Denver smiles at her. “And besides, if I really was interested in him, I think Berlin might murder me.”

Denver frowns. “What?”

“Oh my god, thank goodness you’re pretty. How have you not noticed they’re together?” she asks, nodding at the table behind him.

Denver turns and sees Palermo collapsing onto Berlin’s lap, face pushing into his neck. Berlin wraps his arms around Palermo and then suddenly looks over at Denver, face that full of that terrifyingly cold anger that Denver saw in the mint. He swallows nervously.

“I think Berlin might kill me instead,” he says and Manila laughs.

“You’d kind of deserve it.”

“Fuck,” he says, watching Berlin stroke Palermo’s back, furious gaze fixed on Denver. “I’m so dead.”

* * *

**3\. Helsinki**

He likes Palermo. He’s a bit odd, and some of the things he says make Nairobi rant angrily about misogynists when they’re alone in their room, but he seems like a good addition to the team. Helsinki hadn’t really understood why Nairobi and Tokyo didn’t want Palermo in charge of the plan with Berlin. But now, watching him beat a handcuffed hostage for saying what are admittedly terrible things, Helsinki understands their trepidation.

Helsinki helps Denver haul Palermo away from Gandia, cane still waving as he spits curses at him.

“Go back to your faggot boyfriend, you cock-sucking sudaca!” Gandia calls after them and Helsinki has to grab Palermo around the waist when he tries to launch himself at the security guard again.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Nairobi yells when they’ve forced Palermo into the library, where Berlin frowns to see his partner so enraged. “You’ve brought us down to the same fucking level as the Taliban.”

“Someone needed to shut him up!” Palermo insists, face contorted with anger.

Berlin steps forward, body tense as he nears Palermo carefully, as if approaching a wild animal. “Shut whom up?” he asks, his eyes never leaving Palermo.

“Gandia,” Nairobi says. “He was shooting his mouth off and Palermo here decided to beat the shit out of him with a cane.”

“He was just talking shit, Palermo,” Helsinki agrees, trying to sound empathetic. “You should just ignore him.”

Palermo shakes his head, his whole body practically vibrating with anger. “No, it wasn’t just shit-talking, Helsinki. It was a fucking insult. To me, to all of us, the whole gang.”

Helsinki shakes his head. “We’ve all been called stuff like that. You must have too.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Palermo roars, jumping off the sofa, whole body coiled as if ready for a fight. “He doesn’t get to call me that. He doesn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter what he said,” Nairobi says. “We have a plan and we have rules. The Professor’s rules. And we have to obey them.”

“My plan,” Palermo insists. Berlin coughs and Palermo corrects himself. “Berlin and I’s plan. Ours. And we told the Professor from the start we needed to kill Gandia.”

“We don’t go around killing hostages,” Helsinki says, unable to comprehend the extent of Palermo’s anger. “No matter what they say.”

“What did he say?” Berlin asks, looking between Palermo and the rest of them.

Palermo clenches his jaw and looks away.

“He called Nairobi a mutt,” Helsinki says quietly. “And he called Palermo a faggot and… a – I don’t know the word.”

“Sudaca,” Denver supplies and Helsinki nods.

Berlin shrugs. “Then I think Palermo’s reaction was reasonable.”

“No it wasn’t,” Nairobi says incredulously.

“Why the fuck would the Professor put this psycho in charge?” Denver asks. “You’re his brother, but Palermo?”

“Say that again, you asshole,” Palermo yells, moving towards Denver.

Helsinki steps forward. “Palermo, calm down.”

“You calm down,” Palermo says irrationally. “Gandia deserved everything he fucking got and a lot more.”

Helsinki shakes his head. “No, Nairobi’s right, we don’t treat hostages that way.”

Palermo practically snarls. “He called me a faggot and a sudaca and I’m just supposed to let him get away with that? I won’t take it anymore!” He has a death grip on his cane and a wild look in his eyes.

Helsinki moves closer. He doesn’t want to physically restrain Palermo, although he will if he needs to, but then Berlin is between them. He has one hand on Palermo’s face, the other stretched back, gesturing for Helsinki and the others to stay away.

“You don’t have to take it. You don’t have to let him speak to you like that,” Berlin is saying, fully fixated on Palermo. “But he’s scum that’s tied up like a dog and he can’t do anything but spew his hatred. He can’t do anything else. You control whether he hurts you, how he affects you. You’re in control.”

Palermo nods, eyes almost unfocused. “I’m in control,” he repeats and Helsinki isn’t a naturally curious person, but he’d give a lot to be able to understand what is happening between Berlin and Palermo right now.

“Gandia isn’t him, he’s some measly security guard with a hero-complex,” Berlin says and Palermo nods. “Let’s talk to the Professor and see if we can’t do something about Gandia and his foul mouth.”

“Okay,” Palermo mumbles.

“Let’s go,” Nairobi says quietly, grabbing Helsinki’s elbow and pulling him out of the room, gesturing for Denver to follow them.

“I’m not the only one who was confused by that, right?” Denver asks and Helsinki shakes his head.

“No, I am too,” he says and Nairobi nods.

“Maybe it’s best we don’t understand,” she says. “Do you really want to know what goes on inside those messed up heads?”

Denver shakes his head vehemently, laughing, but Helsinki stays silent as he follows her back towards the lobby.

* * *

**4\. Rio**

He slams his empty shot glass on the table as Tokyo whoops and across the table, Palermo and Denver do the same.

“Come on, don’t wimp out now,” Denver says as he pours another round from the bottle they had bought.

“Oh god,” Tokyo says, laughing brightly. “We’re all going to be so hungover.”

“Yep,” Denver agrees. “But Stockholm is going to kill me either way, so go big or go home, baby.”

Next to him, Palermo sways a little as he grins. “Andrés is going to make me sleep on the sofa for this.”

“Ew,” Tokyo says. “No talking about partners.”

“Exactly,” Rio says, giggling as Palermo’s face falls.

“But, I love him,” he says and Tokyo groans theatrically just as Manila reappears.

“Who do you love?” she asks, falling into the seat next to Palermo and stealing his next shot, which Rio vaguely recognises as probably being a good thing.

“Andrés,” Palermo sighs and Manila pats his arm.

She downs his shot, pulling a face and then reaches for the tequila to pour another. “Of course you do, you two are very gross,” she upends the bottle and scowls. “Hey, where did all the alcohol go?”

“S’gone,” Denver says, laughing and Rio does too although he doesn’t know why.

Manila frowns, making her face go funny. “Well I got the last one, so one of you go and get me more alcohol.”

“I’ll get it,” Rio says, when no one else volunteers. He gets to his feet, steadying himself with a hand on Denver’s shoulder.

Palermo gets up too. “I need the bathroom, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“How much do you want to bet he’s going to pass out or throw up?” Tokyo asks.

“No, then I’ll have to go get him,” Rio hears Denver groan before he pushes through the crowd and towards the bar.

It takes ages for the bartender, some guy who’s almost bigger than Helsinki, to notice him.

“Can I get a bottle of tequila?” Rio shouts over the music and general chatter, hoping his words aren’t too slurred to be understood.

The guy sighs. “Which one?”

Rio frowns. “Huh?”

“Which brand?” the bartender asks with an exasperated sigh, gesturing at the shelf of liquor behind him.

Rio squints, the bottles behind the guy blurring together. “Uh, the um, the one… the Patron one.”

“We have about five different types, which Patron one do you want?”

Rio shrugs, tired of the interrogation. “Just give me the most expensive one,” he says, deciding that he might as well splash out a little now that he has the cash.

The bartender raises his eyebrows but nods. “Okay, I’ll go get you a new one from the back.”

Rio watches him leave and zones out a little as the thumping music vibrates through his whole body. He nearly jumps a foot in the air when a hand settles on the small of his back.

“Hey,” a guy says, smiling at him. He’s taller than Rio, maybe in his mid-thirties. Good looking, with short blonde hair and tanned skin.

“Uh, hi?” Rio asks, a little disconcerted by the fact that the guy is still touching him. He slips out of his grasp, craning his neck a little to see if the bartender is on his way back yet.

The guy’s smile stays fixed on his faced. “My name’s Pablo, what’s yours?”

“Rio, I’m Rio,” he says, looking around for a way out of the situation, but he can’t see the table the others are sat at from here and the bartender still hasn’t returned.

“Well, Rio, can I buy you a drink?” Pablo asks. He leans closer, hand returning to Rio’s waist.

Rio shakes his head. “No, that’s okay. I uh, I’m waiting on drinks for me and my friends already.”

“Really?” Pablo says. “Are you sure? I’ll get you anything you want. A pretty boy like you, you can ask for whatever.”

“Look, I really don’t need you to get me anything,” Rio says nervously.

Pablo leans in, practically purring in Rio’s ear. “Well then how about we just get out of here?”

“No!” Rio says, hating how his voice cracks, but he’s starting to panic, his heart racing. “No, I’m – I uh, I’m with someone.”

“With someone?” Pablo repeats sceptically. “I don’t see anyone here.”

Rio looks over his shoulder, hoping that by some miracle Tokyo or even Denver will appear. Instead he sees Palermo, still looking far too drunk, stumbling through the crowd.

“Yeah, that’s him there. The one in the purple shirt,” he says, maybe a little too desperately, because Pablo doesn’t look convinced.

“Him?”

“Yeah,” Rio says, nodding frantically. “Palermo, over here,” he calls and by some stroke of luck, Palermo hears him, changing directions and walking over to them.

“Hey Rio,” he says, frowning at Pablo.

Rio has about five seconds to pray that Palermo is too drunk to punch him, and also that he didn’t actually throw up in the bathroom, before he grabs him by the back of the neck and kisses him. Palermo freezes for a minute, but to his credit it’s only for a moment, then one hand settles on Rio’s back, somehow skilfully dislodging Pablo’s and kisses back. It’s thankfully short and he blinks a little when Palermo pulls away, arm wrapping around Rio’s waist as he turns back to Pablo.

“Is this guy bothering you, cariño?” Palermo asks, throwing Pablo a dangerous look that reminds Rio an awful lot of Berlin.

Pablo holds up both hands defensively. “Hey, I didn’t know he was taken,” he says, before slinking off into the crowd.

Palermo waits for him disappear before he pulls away from Rio and turns back to the bar where the bartender is waiting, looking a little surprised, bottle of tequila in one hand.

“Good for you man,” he says to Palermo, nodding at Rio.

Palermo grins. “Thanks, how much does my boyfriend owe you?”

Rio watches, still stunned, as Palermo pays the bartender and accepts the bottle of tequila.

“Um, thanks,” he says quietly and Palermo shrugs.

“No problem, are you okay? He didn’t do anything to you, right?”

Rio shakes his head. “No, he was just… persistent.”

“Men,” Palermo scoffs, leading the way through the crowd and back to the others. “As annoying as women are, at least they don’t do that sort of thing. So I guess… maybe women aren’t that bad,” he decides as they arrive at the table.

“What are you talking about now?” Tokyo asks with a scowl.

Palermo waves a hand dismissively as he puts the tequila down in front of Manila. “I’ve come to the realisation that maybe women are better than men in some respects.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?” Manila asks as she opens the bottle.

“We kissed,” Rio says and everyone turns to look at him, making him blush.

Denver frowns. “And you were so bad, you turned Palermo straight?”

“God, no,” Palermo says with a theatrical shudder. “Manila, give me a shot so I can forget Denver even suggested something like that.”

“Some guy just wanted to buy me a drink and wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Rio mumbles and both Tokyo and Manila nod in understanding.

“Men are gross,” Manila says, toasting with her shot and Palermo knocks his glass against hers.

They both down their drinks and Rio laughs when half of Manila’s comes back out of her nose. She coughs and Tokyo cackles at her.

“What’s wrong with you?” Palermo asks, patting her on the back.

Manila gasps for breath. “I was just thinking about what would have happened if it was Berlin instead of you and Rio had to kiss him.”

Denver blanches and Rio shudders at the thought – as crazy and unpredictable as Palermo is, he isn’t anywhere near as outright scary as Berlin.

Tokyo retches. “God, no thank you.”

“Hey,” Palermo says, pointing a wavering finger at her. “You’re a liar if you say you’ve never thought about Berlin that way. He’s an asshole, I know, but…” he pauses, blinking hard as if trying to remember where he was going with his train of thought. “But he’s fucking hot,” he eventually finishes.

Rio gratefully accepts the shot Tokyo hands him. She downs one of her own, slamming it down on the table in front of Palermo.

“Fuck it,” she says. “You’re right. He is hot.”

Denver laughs and Rio takes his own shot as Palermo leans back in his chair, both wobbly and triumphant.

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Manila says and she and Palermo clink glasses again.

Rio slumps forward onto his arms. “I’m glad the Professor let us stay together after the bank,” he mumbles.

Denver pats the back of his head as Tokyo cheers.

“Me too,” Palermo says and Rio smiles hazily at him.

* * *

**5\. Lisbon**

She’s glad they could all stay together, of course she is. When Sergio had initially suggested it, it she wasn’t sure, but it’s been almost a year now, with all of them together on one island and so far, things have been going well.

What she still doesn’t understand is Martín. She supposes they’re sort of in-laws now, although neither of them have married their respective partners. She shared the rest of the gang’s reservations when Sergio recruited Andrés back into the gang and he insisted on bringing Martín. He’s undoubtedly brilliant, but he’s a lot like Andrés without the mask of elegance and glamour. His behaviour in the bank didn’t do much to improve her opinion of him either, but over the last year it seems like she’s discovering more and more sides to him – not least the fact that her daughter seems a little obsessed with him.

Paula tugs on her hand. “Come on, mama. Tío Martín is waiting, I don’t want him to start without me.”

“He won’t cariña,” Raquel insists, but lets her daughter drag her along the beach and to the boat house. She hasn’t been to one of these so called ‘lessons’ yet, but decided that if her daughter was going to spend most of her afternoons repairing motors, of all things, she might as well see what all the fuss is about.

Martín is kneeling next to a huge toolbox, talking to Andrés who is impractically dressed all in white, when they enter. Paula immediately goes jumping into his arms, making him drop the wrench he was holding.

“Hello, princesa,” Martín says, returning the hug as Andrés watches them, an indulgent look on his face that Raquel rarely sees.

“Raquel,” Andrés acknowledges and Martín’s head jerks up as if he’d been so distracted by Paula that he hadn’t noticed her presence.

“I thought I might stay and watch today,” Raquel says evenly when Paula finally lets go of Martín. He tenses a little, but nods.

Andrés pats the space next to him, on the bench where he’s sitting. “You know, I had the same thought,” he tells her and Raquel is sure she isn’t imagining how Martín relaxes at the words.

“Tío Martín can we start now?” Paula asks impatiently and Raquel smiles at how Martín immediately focusses all his attention on her daughter.

He nods seriously. “Of course, princesa, but you know what you have to do first.”

Paula mirrors his serious expression. “Yes, I do.”

“Off you go then,” he says and Paula darts off to the other side of the boathouse.

There’s a crate of records and an old player propped on a wooden box and Raquel watches as Paula carefully selects an album and places it on the record player, lifting the needle onto it with utter concentration. There’s a few seconds of static before an old song from the eighties starts to play.

Paula returns to Martín’s side and Raquel absolutely doesn’t have tears in her eyes when she hands Martín her hair tie and asks him to braid it back. He does so quickly and without complaint and then the two of them are bent over a jumble of engine parts that Raquel couldn’t possibly identify.

“Cute, aren’t they?” Andrés asks her in a low voice and Raquel nods. “Funny, considering he’s always convinced children hate him.”

“Not the other way around?” Raquel asks, surprised, and Andrés shakes his head.

“Of course not, just look at him. Does that look like a man who hates children?”

Martín, who’s hands are already blackened from grease and oil holds up two pieces and explains how they work to Paula, who is staring at him with a rapturous expression.

“No,” Raquel says slowly. “I suppose not.”

* * *

**\+ 1. Andrés (sort of)**

“Six years ago?” Martín questions, staring down at the ring.

Andrés nods. “Of course. The day after our first kiss.”

“I thought you went to buy champagne?”

“I did that too.”

Martín looks at the ring and then back up at Andrés, an incredulous smile still on his face. “You knew even then that you wanted to marry me?”

“Of course,” Andrés says again. “I also knew that you’d say yes. I know you well, querido.”

“You do,” Martín admits, sliding the ring onto his finger and looking at it again, holding his hand out to look at it from a different angle. “Better than anyone.”

“I should think so,” Andrés says seriously. “We’ve known each other so long, I think I know you better than I know myself.”

Martín smiles. “That’s very cheesy, Andrés.”

“Isn’t it true, though?” Andrés asks, pulling him closer.

“Maybe,” Martín mumbles and lets Andrés kiss him.

Later, when they’re lying in bed, Martín rests his head on Andrés’ chest and lets Andrés draw mindless patterns on the bare skin of his back with gentle fingers.

“Better than you know yourself, huh?” Martín asks against his collarbone and Andrés laughs.

“You’re still stuck on that?”

Martín shakes his head. “No, I was just thinking, it’s nice. To be known by someone and to know them the same way.”

“I suppose it is,” Andrés agrees. “I like having that. No secrets between us, nothing about you or what you’ve done could ever surprise me.”

“Nothing?” Martín asks, tone turning teasing.

Andrés taps the space between his shoulder blades. “Nothing,” he says firmly.

Martín nods, and there’s a pause before he speaks again. “Rio kissed me.”

Andrés freezes. “What?”

**Author's Note:**

> if you have thoughts on this mindless garbage feel free to leave them here or yell at me on on tumblr ([@hefellfordean](https://hefellfordean.tumblr.com)) or twitter ([@angstypalermo](https://twitter.com/angstypalermo))


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